Airport Interlude
by Vinividivinci
Summary: What happened between the time Jane confessed his love on the airplane and Teresa shows up in the interrogation room? My take on that. T-rating with one bad word!


_**I was reading some TM fanfiction and realized that I hadn't read anything about the time between Jane's confession on the plane and Teresa showing up in the interrogation room. Although I'm sure there are some fics out there that deal with this time, I thought I'd add my two-cents.**_

 _ **And for those following my other story – my apologies. Life has been crazy and my writing has stalled. I will get back to it in the next few days.**_

He grasped the rails on either side of the steps and hopped down the stairs on one foot. The air marshal, walking behind him, refused to help. He was okay, though, since the adrenaline rushing through him kept him unaware of the pain in his ankle.

By the time he reached the bottom, however, he started to notice the hot throbbing. It was when he placed his foot on the ground, and attempted to walk on it, that awareness returned completely.

"Ow," he muttered softly, still grabbing onto the rail with one hand.

"Come on, move it!" snarled the marshal, his gun in hand and a scowl on his face.

"I'd like to, I really would," Jane grimaced, "but I think I've sprained my ankle".

"Not my problem! Now _move_!"

Jane glanced at him, eyebrows raised, but decided that in this case, discretion – and obedience – were the better part of valor. He took another step, and his leg buckled under him. "Ow!" he repeated, this time more emphatically. "I'm really afraid I'm not going far on this foot."

His tall, fierce guard continued to scowl, but finally glanced down at Jane's ankle – the gun still pointed directly at Jane. "Let's see," he demanded.

"Uh – okay." With one hand still firmly holding on he bent his leg until it was resting across the other one and reached down and pulled up his pant leg. By now his ankle was throbbing mercilessly and he wondered if he'd done more than sprain it. He gingerly lowered his sock – his favorite pair of socks from – he refused to finish that thought but instead stopped and took a swift breath in. He couldn't think about her now – in fact, he had to stop thinking about her at all – forever. She was no longer in his life. He'd left it too late.

He closed his eyes. He could only deal with so much pain, and fortunately, right now, he had enough of the physical kind to distract him from what he knew was going to be a much worse kind of pain later on.

Giving himself a quick shake, he returned his attention to his ankle and managed to pull down his sock, wincing as he caught sight of the tennis ball sized swelling that had appeared. The skin was bright red, although he could already see it starting to turn black. Yup – he'd really done a number on it.

"See," he showed the man still holding a gun on him. "Not lying. By the way, what's your name?"

The marshal was staring at his ankle and then seemed to sigh. He took a two-way radio from his pocket and held it to his face. "Jarrett here," he said. "We have a problem. The guy who forced his way onto the plane has hurt his ankle. We need a wheelchair and a medic."

"I'd like to point out, Marshal Jarrett, that I didn't _force_ my way onto the plane," Jane explained once the conversation between the marshal and his colleague was finished. "The flight attendant let me on. I don't even have a weapon and any of my colleagues will tell you I avoid violence of any kind."

Jarrett glanced at him, his face not changing expression. "Don't really care," he said. "You can explain all that to the TSA. In the meantime, you'd better keep quiet."

"Why?" Jane asked. "I'd much prefer to talk. My ankle is hurting and this distracts me." He wasn't about tell the agent that he wasn't particularly worried about the pain in his ankle. It was the rest of the evening he was trying to not think about.

The guy rolled his eyes and seemed to relax, just slightly. Although he continued to hold his gun, he was no longer pointing it directly at Jane. "What did you think you were doing?" he finally asked.

"Uh – just had to say goodbye to a friend."

"Didn't sound like "just goodbye", Jarrett smirked. "You told the whole plane you loved her."

Jane winced, and closed his eyes briefly. Embarrassment was the least of his troubles, but he had to admit that he was feeling a tiny bit – uncomfortable. "Yes, well – she was a _good_ friend."

"Yeah? Didn't seem like she was _that_ good a friend," he chuckled (rather meanly Jane thought). "She clearly doesn't return the feeling. She your ex-wife or girlfriend or something? She leavin' you for another guy?"

Jane let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the handrail. He stared off into the distance, where he could see a vehicle approaching. "Yeah," he said softly. "She is."

At that the marshal's expression changed to one verging on sympathetic. "Well, it was stupid to force yourself onto a plane, but I am sorry that it didn't work out for you. But don't worry – you'll eventually get over her and you can find someone else. There are a lot of good women out there."

Jane felt a sudden wash of anger and opened his mouth to blister the moron who would even _think_ to suggest that he could ever replace Teresa. But he stopped himself – partly because he realized it wouldn't be good to antagonize the man holding a gun on him and partly because he didn't want to wear his heart on his sleeve – anymore than he already had that evening.

At that moment an emergency vehicle pulled up beside the plane and the next few minutes were spent getting him loaded on board. Once in the back of the ambulance the EMT checked out his ankle and bandaged it up.

"You should probably go for an X-Ray once they let you go," he said. "I don't think it's broken – most likely just a bad sprain – but you'll want to check to make sure. Just keep it raised and put ice on it. I can give you some Ibuprofen to help with the pain and swelling.

He was almost tempted to refuse the painkiller, because at least the pain helped keep his mind off things. In the end he took one – deciding that it was less hassle than refusing.

By the time he was hustled (or more accurately _rolled_ in the wheelchair _)_ into the TSA interrogation room, over an hour had gone by since he'd boarded Teresa's plane. He wondered if she had taken off yet? He could have asked, but he wasn't sure they would tell him – or if he even wanted to know.

The next few hours were spent answering questions and explaining himself to the TSA agents. He went over things multiple times – always answering the questions in a quiet, calm, disinterested voice. If he'd thought about it, he would have realized that his calm manner probably freaked them out more than if he'd appeared angry or belligerent – or scared. Instead he acted like he didn't care.

And the fact was – he didn't. At one point he almost told them that none of it mattered – they could do whatever they wanted with him. If they decided to throw him in jail, then so be it. Being in jail would be no worse than being free – now that he had lost the one person that meant the world to him.

He almost laughed – it was ironic that he was back to where he had been for so many years. He had lost all that really mattered to him and therefore life had no meaning. The difference _this_ time, was that he didn't even have vengeance to keep him going, to keep him focused. The only enemy in this whole thing was himself. He was the one who had caused this. He was the one who had lost her – who had killed any chance of – anything.

He wanted to lay his head on the table and simply close his eyes and sleep – sleep and not think of anything. Instead he had to continue to answer the same questions, over and over. He was also pretty sure that sleep would be hard for him to recapture and that once again he was facing months – years of insomnia.

"No, I didn't have a weapon – _don't_ have a weapon."

"Yes, I told the attendant I worked for the FBI – I _do_ work for the FBI."

"I left it back at my hotel. I _told_ you – I helped catch a murderer and I showed her my ID – she didn't give it back."

"Why? Because my friend was leaving."

"I did _not_ threaten the flight attendant. I _asked_ her and she let me in."

"False pretenses? Maybe." He shrugged.

"Of course I don't work for a terrorist organization. I told you – I'm with the FBI. Call Dennis Abbott, Chief Agent and he'll tell you."

"Teresa Lisbon. Yes, she works for the FBI too."

"Who is she to me? She's – a colleague."

"No, she didn't know anything about this."

"She's moving to DC."

The questioning went on for hours – or what seemed like hours. In the end he simply stopped responding and stared into the corner of the room. The adrenaline had left and the dull throbbing of his ankle was no longer enough to take his mind off what had happened.

As the voice of the TSA agent droned on – telling him that what he'd done was stupid, yadda, yadda – and that there would be consequences, etc., etc. – he thought back to the evening – to the day – to the time since he'd returned to the US. Thinking of those things, he had to agree with the agent. He _was_ stupid.

Why hadn't he said something before? Why had he left it until it was too late? She _had_ said it was too late – implying that there had been a time when maybe - , there had been a chance. That made everything taste even more bitter.

He knew why, of course. He had been afraid. So afraid that he'd decided it would be better to simply go back to their relationship of before and not chance telling her.

But that hadn't worked out at all. Instead of returning to their former relationship they'd grown more distant, had lost much of the closeness and trust they'd developed over the years. Teresa had shown him, had _told_ him that he wasn't the center of her life anymore, if he ever had been.

That had hurt and he'd withdrawn – but not just because of the hurt. No, he'd realized that he had been incredibly selfish towards her, that he had made assumptions and decisions that weren't his to make and that he needed to butt out – to not try and control her life. That had been the right thing to do – but like always he had taken it one step too far. He'd backed away too much and had left the field wide open for Pike – who had swooped in and captured her more quickly than Jane had thought possible.

Did he feel bitter over that? Yes – he had to be honest with himself. He was angry and bitter at her for not giving him a chance – for being so willing to go with the first man who asked her out since she'd been in Austin (at least he thought Pike was the first).

Should he have said something as soon as they'd started dating? Probably. But he'd been hurt – and still frightened.

Yes, he admitted to himself – he'd been eaten up with fear. He'd lost so much in life and hadn't known if he could allow himself to be so vulnerable, to open himself up again to the possibility of future loss. But the irony was – by his actions, by his refusal to tell Teresa how he felt – he'd ended up losing her anyway.

And the pain was as terrible as he had imagined.

But there was also a part of him that was relieved – and to be honest – proud of himself. At least he'd told her. At least he'd had the courage to put his feelings out there, to admit that he loved her. Whatever life held for him now, at least he didn't have to cope with the regret of not telling her.

Regret? He huffed a soft laugh – causing the TSA agent to stop speaking and scowl at him. Yes, he had many regrets. In fact his life seemed to be full of them and he knew he had now added another.

His regret was that he had left it too long. He should have told her how he felt a long, long time ago. He should have told her the moment he'd seen her again, after returning from the island.

He should have grabbed her and hugged her – just like he had – but he should have told her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. Maybe then she wouldn't be flying off to DC, to live with another man.

"I just need you to sign your statement." His mind returned to the now and he looked down at the papers the agent pushed in front of him. "I'll be back to let you know what we're going to do with you."

"Have you contacted Dennis Abbott," he asked, not really caring one way or another.

"We have. Now please sign." Once Jane had signed the papers the agent took them, added his signature and stood and left the room. For the first time since boarding the plane Jane was alone.

He put his fingers to his lips and thought about what was next. The future looked bleak – felt bleak. He breathed in and out – and knew, once again, what it was to lose the woman he loved.

A moment later he heard the door open, and wondered briefly what the agent had forgotten. Not that it really mattered. Not that anything really mattered anymore.

* * *

Teresa didn't know what to think or to do. Part of her wanted to curl up in embarrassment, knowing the entire plane was probably looking at her. The words of the lady next to her helped a bit, but still, she didn't like being the center of attention. And to say she was the center of attention was an understatement.

She didn't allow herself to think about what Jane had said, instead thinking only of the scene he had made. She wasn't quite _ready_ to think about what he'd said. It had been a shock, _more_ than a shock, and her whole world felt as if it had been knocked off kilter.

"Are you going to go to him dear?" the lady in 12A interrupted her thoughts.

"I – uh – I don't -", her voice faded. She didn't know what to do.

" _This is the Captain speaking,"_ the announcement suddenly came over the speakers. " _Due to the – interesting – event that just occurred, our flight will be delayed for the next little while until everything is sorted out. Our apologies. We assure you we have everything well under control and we will keep you informed when we have received permission to take off."_

Teresa now wanted to crawl under her seat as she heard the groans and complaints of the other passengers. A few of them even turned around and glared at her. As if she had had anything to do with what had happened!

She sighed. Why should she be surprised? She'd spent ten years of her life cleaning up after Jane, dealing with the consequences of his actions. And then she'd had two years of peace and quiet – of never having to apologize to people for his rudeness, of never having to write letters and fill out forms because of him. She hadn't wanted to hit anyone, or yell at anyone all the time she was in Washington. Never once had she rolled her eyes or had to try and explain _why_ Jane did what he did.

No – for two years her life had been uneventful … and she'd hated it!

She sucked in a sudden breath. What was she doing? It all came to her in a flash. She hadn't hated those years – in fact, she'd never felt more alive, more real than the years she'd spent with Jane.

So now - how could she go to DC and spend the rest of her life with a kind, good, _decent_ man – who would bore her to tears in a month. How could she give up the crazy, exciting, stimulating life that was hers when Patrick Jane was in it?

How could sheimagine waking up, knowing that she would no longer see him?

The answer was – she couldn't.

She reached up and pushed the button for the attendant. A few seconds later the woman approached, a frown on her face. "Can I help you?" she asked – not sounding particularly friendly.

Teresa wanted to laugh. This was what she was used to, what she knew how to deal with. "Yes. I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave the plane."

"I'm sorry – you can't," the attendant told her sharply. "No one can leave once -"

"You don't understand," Teresa interrupted her and pulled out her badge. "I am with the FBI and it is essential that I disembark. If you need to you can contact Chief Agent Dennis Abbott. Here, I'll give you his number." Before she had a chance to give it to the attendant the woman spoke.

"I'll check with the pilot. Stay here." There were more glares from other passengers, but now Teresa didn't mind. All she knew was she had to get off the plane.

"Good girl!" the lady next to her whispered. "You go get him! You don't want to let one that handsome get away!"

Teresa chuckled softly – although she still didn't quite know what to think or do. For a moment she thought about Jane – and it was true – he was a handsome man, a _gorgeous_ man, if truth were told. It was funny how she hadn't really thought about him that way before – but now she felt a tingling in her toes as she pictured him in her mind.

The flight attendant returned almost immediately. "Okay, you have permission to disembark," she said, sounding as if she were relieved to be rid of a major problem. "Please gather your things and follow me."

After getting her things together she apologized briefly to her seat-mates – and thanked the lady next to her. She then walked down to the front of the plane, feeling like all eyes were boring into her back.

She was escorted back into the airport and led to chairs outside the TSA security offices. The airport was practically deserted – all flights had taken off for the evening and the only people she could see were a few airport workers.

"You'll have to wait here," the security guard told her. "They'll let you know when you're allowed in."

"Thank you. Uh – are there any coffee shops open?"

"No. There are some machines over there," he gestured with his head. "Other than that there's nothing."

So, she probably had a long night in front of her with nothing more than vending machine coffee to sustain her.

"The things I do for you Patrick Jane," she muttered. She collapsed into one of the hard plastic airport chairs, placed her bag on the seat beside her, and sighed. Then, for the first time since he'd been pulled off the plane she allowed herself to think – to really think – about what Jane had said.

And it was very simple – he'd told her he loved her.

She closed her eyes. Patrick Jane – the man who had been her nemesis, her consultant, her irritant, her _friend_ – loved her.

She swallowed and then breathed deeply. How did that make her feel? She allowed herself to think about those words, about _him_ and soon realized that a warmth was spreading through her – a feeling of _rightness_ – that she hadn't felt in a long, long time – if ever.

Patrick Jane loved her. The crazy, irritating, wonderful man that he was, loved _her_ Teresa Lisbon. She didn't quite know what to do or think.

"Oh hell," she muttered. Yes she _did_ know what to think – and that was that she was happy. He _loved_ her. He'd said it and this time seemed to really mean it.

It was not something she had ever really imagined because she hadn't allowed herself to– although there had been moments when it had popped into her consciousness. But she had ruthlessly squashed those thoughts, those feelings, knowing that they would only lead to pain and disillusionment.

Because Jane had buried his heart with his wife and daughter – at least that's what she'd always believed, always told herself. She knew he cared for her, that he was her best friend, but she didn't think he would ever allow himself to love another woman.

And he had admitted that it had been hard for him – but not because he couldn't love, but because he was afraid. At that she felt the tears gather in her eyes. Poor man. It was no wonder he was afraid – and it made his confession all the more sweet, all the more meaningful.

He loved her. Patrick Jane loved Teresa Lisbon.

She laughed and then looked around self-consciously as her laughter echoed through the empty corridors of the airport. She suddenly felt like a giddy teenager. A boy liked her! No, he _loved_ her.

Suddenly her heart almost stopped. What if – what if he didn't really mean it? What if he was simply panicking that she was leaving and had to say something to get her to stay? Would he tell her that and then change his mind – or pretend he forgot? He had done it to her once before – he could do it again.

But no. This time he'd told her in front of a whole plane-load of people. There was no way he could backtrack.

But just because he told her how he felt, that didn't mean he wanted to do something about it. What if he expected things to go back to the way they were? Could she live like that? Could she just "be friends" with Jane? No – if she were honest with herself she knew she couldn't.

So what did that mean?

That meant she would have to confront him and ask him if he really meant what he'd said. And if he did, they were going to have a serious talk about their relationship – and how it was going to change.

Her life needed to change. It had been put on hold for too many years as she'd stayed by Jane's side in his quest. Then it had been on hold while she worked as a small town sheriff. Well, it was time to change that. She wanted a life – a partner in life, not just in her work. It had been the reason she had responded so quickly to Marcus. She wanted someone in her life who was hers. And she wanted a family. The clock was ticking furiously.

But did Jane want all of that? She had no idea but she needed to find out. And if he didn't? Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. One thing she did know, however, was that there was no way she could go to DC now. It wouldn't be fair to Marcus.

He was a good man – a thoroughly decent man and she hated that she was going to hurt him. But in the long-run it would be more hurtful to continue things with him. She cared for him, but she didn't love him. No, that emotion was saved for a frustrating former psychic and her best friend.

She felt a moment of burning humiliation when she realized that she'd accepted a marriage proposal from Pike as a result of her anger at Jane. What a horrible thing to do. There was no way she was ever going to tell him, of course, but she knew the guilt would be there for a long time.

"Teresa, you seriously fucked up!" she muttered to herself.

Her thoughts went round and round as she continued to sit in an empty airport. She got up and got herself a cup of horrible machine made coffee and a chocolate bar. Although they both made her feel vaguely sick, at least they gave her a quick boost of energy. She'd tried to find someone to let her know what was going on, but had only been told that Jane was still being interrogated.

It was almost five in the morning before someone came and got her. She stood up stiffly and stretched. Now she was about to find out whether or not Jane had meant what he said. Now she would find out what direction her life was going to take.

Her heart was thumping so hard she was afraid it would jump from her chest and run away. She forced herself to stop and take a few deep breaths. The TSA agent halted and looked at her quizzically.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just tired."

He smiled. "Long night?"

"You have no idea."

He chuckled. "Well, I've got to say that your friend is an interesting guy. I think it's the first time we've ever had someone get on a plane to tell someone they loved her."

Teresa could feel herself blush. "Yeah – sorry about that."

"Hey, no need to apologize! It'll make for a great story. And anyway - you're a lucky woman to have someone love you that much."

She stopped and stared at him for a moment and suddenly felt her heart calm and her world return to its rightful place. "You know – you're right," she said softly. "I am." With that she stepped forward, a small smile on her face. She took one glance through the window and saw Jane sitting quietly, an unreadable expression on his face. With one last deep breath she put her hand out, opened the door and stepped into her future.


End file.
